Page 70 of Unmasking Mayhem
Hawk (“Crow”)
I Need a Doctor: Eminem, Dr. Dre
Another layer of snow falls, covering the dirty slush coating the ground. There's a bitter chill in the air, and it's bringing the voices in my head out full time. They never shut up. I never get a moment of peace. My meds aren't even working, and Raze has made sure I've been taking them. This is why I fucking hate them. They turn me into a person I fucking despise.
Plus Whitney hasn't come home yet. We haven't even heard from her. The guilt I carry with me is almost crushing. It'senough to pull me under and keep me there. I couldn't save her. I couldn't even fucking find her. I let her down again... after I promised I'd always be there when she needed me. I fucking failed her, and I'm not sure how to live with myself, especially when the voices taunt me all the time. My demons haunt me, each one reminding me of Whitney.
"Get out of your head," Raze says, nudging my shoulder to try and snap me out of whatever funk I've found myself in.
"Easier said than done," I mutter, licking the blunt paper before meticulously rolling it all together. "We fucking failed her."
"I know, but we're not giving up. We didn't come this far and go through everything we did just to lose her now," he softly says, sighing loud enough for me to hear. "We'll find her, Hawk; don't worry."
We sit in silence as I spark the blunt, our feet dangling off of the top of the fire escape as we watch below, waiting to see if we see her or anything that might help us find her. So far there hasn't been anything useful. We fought King to leave the club, and in the end we won. He's spiraling fast, for reasons we're still trying to figure out. Against his better judgment, he caved, and we're no longer trapped like fucking prisoners. But freedom feels like a curse without Whitney. Each minute that ticks by only thickens the knot in my stomach. I take a long drag from the blunt, feeling the familiar burn in my throat, hoping it'll drown out the relentless noise in my mind. Raze shifts beside me, the warmth of his body a brief comfort against the cold creeping in.
“Do you think... do you think she’s scared?” I whisper, exhaling a cloud of smoke. The light from a distant street lamp flickers, casting uneasy shadows around us.
“Yeah, probably. But she knows you, Hawk. She knows you won't stop looking for her. That’s why we can’t give in to the fear,” Raze replies, his voice steady, anchoring me for a moment.
I want to believe him. I really do. The truth is, each scenario I envision paints Whitney as lost, either trapped or worse. It twists like a dagger in my gut. Guilt claws at my insides, slick and persistent.
“I just... I can’t shake this feeling that I messed up somehow. Like if I had just—”
“Stop,” Raze interrupts, his tone turning sharper. “Stop blaming yourself. You didn't do anything wrong. Whatever is going on with Whitney, it’s not your fault. Believe that.”
I turn to look at Raze, his earnest gaze meeting mine. There's warmth in his voice, the kind that tries to chase the icy grip of despair away. For a fleeting moment, I see the fierce loyalty that makes me hold onto hope.
“You really think so?”
“Yeah, I do. She needs us to stay strong. We owe her that much. You owe yourself that. The more you doubt yourself, the more the shadows win.”
The shadows. I feel them creeping closer, the voices rising in volume, chipping away at any flicker of strength I still cling to. But Raze's words echo in my mind, a gentle reminder that even in darkness, I have a choice.
“I guess we should hit the streets again,” I say, trying to shake off the gloom. “Maybe we’ll find something, anything that points to her.”
Raze nods. “Let’s retrace our steps from last night. If we go that way, we might get lucky.”
We stand up, the chill biting at our skin as we climb down the rusty fire escape. Each step feels heavy, but every inch I move forward is a small act of defiance against the voices that swirl within. Outside, the world is muffled, covered in snow, but my mind races with determination.
“Raze,” I call as we hit the ground. He turns, and I can see the concern etched on his face. “Can I count on you? Like, really.”
He crosses the distance between us, clasping my shoulder firmly. “Always, Hawk. It's always been us against everyone and everything.”
With one last glance toward the darkened alleyways of our fractured city, we step into the storm, ready to fight against the odds and bring her home. But we only take a few steps in the freshly fallen snow before my cell phone rings from inside my pocket. I hastily fish it out with shaky hands, almost dropping it in a puddle. The area code is a California one, and seeing it makes my heart beat frantically.
"Hello?" I answer, holding my breath in anticipation.
"Hawk? Hawk, it's me, Whitney," a soft voice whispers from the other end, and my heart almost falls to my fucking feet. "I need you to come get me. Please bring me home."
The sound of her begging and her shaky yet calm voice is enough to send me over the edge. I drop to my knees, thrusting my phone into Raze's hands, leaving it up to him while I catch my breath and pull myself together. I don't want her hearing how emotional I am because I don’t know how she's feeling and how hearing my worry will affect her. Relief rushes all through my body, instantly warming me even as the snow drifts down in flurries around me. Tears stream down my cheeks as I stay knelt in the snow smoking, still trying to get my heartbeat under control.
"Hello?" Raze asks, still in the dark about who is on the other end of the phone.
"Raze, it's me. I need you to come get me," she repeats, her voice booming through the speakerphone.
"Whitney? Are you alright? Where are you?" Raze panics, scrambling to try and compose himself.
"I'm in California... I need help getting home. I have nothing," she states, not giving any extra information other than the bare minimum.
